Max sat half up on the sofa, blinking in the half light. “I haven’t got that kind of money.” He was trying to play the victim, but it came off as whiny.
“There’s no mortgage on the restaurant building,” Annie went on; suddenly she had all the answers. She wondered idly if this was what an epiphany felt like. “You won’t have any trouble taking one out on it. And if that doesn’t cover the whole cost, you can ask your parents.”
“They haven’t . . .”
“This is me, remember, Max, I know they’ve got it, just sitting in a bank account, waiting for you.”
“That’s my inheritance!”
“As long as it’s yours, it doesn’t really matter when you get it, does it?”
“They’ll never agree.”
“Then it’s up to you to persuade them. You’re good at that. I’ll make an appointment to see my solicitor and get it all drawn up. I’m not asking for anything that isn’t already mine. My inheritance bought that place, and it’s only right that I get at least half of it back.”
Max, realizing she meant business, was gathering up his jacket and stuffing the photograph albums back into the bags.
“You can leave those for now,” said Annie. “I’ll sort through them and make copies.”
“I’m sure,” said Max. “Maybe you’d like to take the shirt off my back while you’re at it, since you seem determined to take me to the cleaners and destroy everything I’ve worked for.”
“Everything we’ve worked for, Max. And I’m not asking for anything that doesn’t already belong to me.”
Max wasn’t listening. He was clutching the bags to his chest as though trying to cover his modesty, while managing to look shocked and hurt as he backed away from her. Max yanked open the door to the flat.
“And don’t forget the account!” Annie shouted. “I want my sodding money!”
As soon as Max realized his victim act wasn’t going to wash with Annie, his demeanor changed.
“I’ll see myself out,” he said. And then leaning in close to her face, he growled, “You’re a bitch,” before slamming the door behind him.
Annie swiftly locked the door and listened to his heavy footsteps descending the stairs. After the front door had been pulled shut with an almighty and unnecessary bang, Annie crept downstairs and pulled the latch and chain across the door before scurrying back up to the flat and collapsing on the sofa. She wasn’t sure if she believed in an afterlife, but if it was possible for deceased loved ones to influence the living, Annie would put money on her parents lending her their strength from beyond the grave just then. It felt like a breakthrough; she would never have stood her ground like that before, not that she wasn’t a trembling like a leaf right now, but most of that was exhilaration. Today had been a day of remembrance, but it had been a momentous day too.
Chapter 58
Oh my God!” Gemma exclaimed. “Thank goodness you didn’t sleep with him.”
It was book club night and the women were discussing Lady Audley’s Secret by Elizabeth Braddon; or at least, they were supposed to be. So far, Annie’s close encounter with Max had rather eclipsed the naughtiness of Lucy Audley. Every time they got back on track, something would bring them back round to Annie again.
“Annie is reinventing herself like Lady Audley,” said Maeve.
“Without the child abandonment, faked death, and attempted murder,” added Sally.
“Imagine if you’d had sex with him.” Gemma was off on her own tangent. “You might have given all this up and gone back to Max.”
“That would never have happened,” said Annie. “It was a momentary lapse, which actually ended up crystallizing what needed to be done. I think I just felt a bit wobbly, what with the day it was and everything, and Max was being all let’s take a trip down memory lane. It was just so familiar and comforting, I suppose.”
“You leaned on him like a crutch,” said Gemma.
“Or a crotch,” added Maeve.
Gemma spluttered into her wine.
“How did you get on at the solicitor’s?” asked Sally.
“Really well. You were right, she is great. She doesn’t see any of it as being a problem because I’m not asking for more than is owed to me. If anything, I’m asking for less.”
The conversation slipped back to book club business.
“Interesting that Braddon made Lucy blond and innocent-looking. If the same story were written by a man, would Lucy have a full mustache and sideburns?” asked Sally.